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The doctors in the town-on–the-Gorkhon never had a moment to rest. Although the town was small, it was still too large for Artemy to manage alone. Sure, he had Rubin to assist him--he occasionally helped out in the clinic--but his primary focus was on managing other obligations regarding the town rather than conducting practical examinations.
Dankovsky, on the other hand, was set on this clinic.
When Artemy first proposed the idea to him, Dankovsky was a little hesitant but ultimately accepted it. The town’s organization was awful so maybe this little addition could allow for the people in the town to feel more secure. Since ever since the idea was brought up, the clinic had become a form of escapism for the Bachelor, who struggled to adapt to the town’s customs. Daniil worked tirelessly, often spending day and night at the clinic to the point that Artemy sometimes had to physically remove him from the premises.
Ever since the plague had ended, it had been difficult for them to readjust to normalcy: the memories were permanently etched in their minds. Perhaps those restless nights spent awake in a cold sweat, haunted by death’s soft whisper, were what allowed the Bachelor and the Haruspex to connect.
It had been a year since the plague had ended, a year since Daniil found himself stranded in the Steppe, and a year since he lost it all.
One particular evening the clinic was chilly, his second October in the town. Dankovsky was quietly working on some paperwork. He insisted that every respectable clinic, back in the Capital, had lots of it. And so, most of his night was spent categorizing new data to better organize the town, but truthfully, it served more as a distraction to keep his mind off other things.
Suddenly, the door slammed open, causing a gush of cold air to enter. Daniil turned his gaze from his desk to the door, meeting the Haruspex eyes.
“I knew I could find you here, oynon.”
“Evening, Burakh.” Daniil replied, glancing up from his cluttered desk. The glow of candlelight flickering across his features.
Artemy was intimidating, he couldn’t deny it . That was mostly due to his size–through his time spent in the town he’d grown sure of that fact. The only one who out-measured him was Stanislav Rubin, and even he couldn’t compare to Burakh.
Burakh was violent. That’s what set the two of them apart: violence. The Haruspex wasn’t afraid of using his hands, getting them dirty and he differed from Dankovsky in that regard. That was why the Bachelor feared the man.
Weirdly enough, that was why he liked him so much.
He tried his best to ignore what that said about him.
They lingered in silence for a moment, an unspoken tension hanging between them as if Artemy was waiting for something more. Then, he stepped closer, the faint scent of herbs and damp earth clinging to him.
“I was wondering if I could borrow you tonight?”
“What for?” Daniil asked, leaning back, his curiosity piqued.
“Nothing work-related, don’t worry,” Artemy assured him, waving his hands.
“That’s exactly what worries me,” Daniil shot back, crossing his arms defensively, a half-smile betraying his apprehension.
“Oh, erdem… What will I do with you?” Artemy sighed dramatically, eyeing the Bachelor.
With a resigned sigh, Daniil stood, the weight of the night settling on his shoulders as he grabbed his coat from the desk. The fabric rustled softly, echoing in the stillness of the clinic.
“So, where are we going?”
𓆙 . . .
The younger man chuckled softly, leading Dankovsky into the cozy living room of his home. On the wooden table sat two perfect-looking pumpkins, their vibrant orange contrasting with the dimly lit room. Artemy glanced back at Daniil, a proud child-like grin spreading across his face.
The Bachelor tilted his head, raising an eyebrow.
"Pumpkins?"
“We don’t usually have many of these in the Steppe… but I managed to secure two.” Artemy said, a hint of pride in his voice.
“I swear I hear a lot about pumpkin pies here…” Daniil replied, glancing at the pumpkins with a hint of skepticism.
“Most people prefer apple pies... But that’s not what I meant. It’s rare to find good-looking pumpkins like these.” He clarified, placing one hand on his hip.
“Why would they need to look good?” Daniil asked, brows furrowed in confusion.
“To carve them, of course!” Artemy answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Daniil continued to look at him with a bewildered expression. “Don’t tell me you’ve never carved before, Dankovsky…”
Daniil fell silent, his gaze drifting away. Artemy swore he caught a hint of color rising to his cheeks.
“Oh my god!” Artemy laughed, his amusement lighthearted rather than mocking.
“I didn’t have the chance to do much of that back in the Capital.” Daniil shot back, defensiveness creeping into his tone, about to bear his fangs. “My father insisted I stay clean. Carving pumpkins had never been on the table in the first place.”
“First time for everything oynon. Come on, we can set up in the backyard.” Artemy encouraged grabbing the pumpkins, one under each arm.
Artemy and Daniil settled down on a soft, plaid blanket spread out across the cool grass of the backyard. As they sat cross-legged, Artemy reached for the pumpkins, their smooth, rounded shapes gleaming under the gentle glow of a nearby lantern.
Daniil leaned slightly closer, the scent of the herbs planted in Artemy’s backyard and freshly harvested crops surrounding him.
“You just… make an incision along the top here.” Artemy explained, tracing his fingers along the pumpkin’s ridges. “Then, set the top aside. It’s really important or you won’t be able to close it up again.” He demonstrated with his fist, scooping through the air. “After that, you dig out the insides—filaments, seeds, all the pulp.” He paused, a small smile forming. “And then, you’re ready to start carving.”
“Is this what they would let you do in practice?” The Bachelor said in a poor attempt to set up a joke.
“Mmhm?” Artemy tilted his head, confused by the comment.
“As a surgeon.” Daniil added. Welp, there goes his joke.
“Oh… No. No, that was much more academic.” Artemy waved, ruffling his own hair up.
“Sarcasm, Burakh.” He plunged the knife in the pumpkin. It made a weird squelching sound that made his shoulders tense up.
“Oh alright, almighty Bachelor. Deepest apologies!” He chuckled, faking offense as he started cutting a circle too.
Daniil opened his mouth, then hesitated, reconsidering his words. How dare Burakh make fun of him? The audacity, really! Here he was, a man of science, a rationalist, subjected to the whims of an overgrown country doctor who thought carving a pumpkin held some deep, mystical meaning. And worse yet, Artemy seemed to be enjoying himself, tracing delicate lines, humming under his breath as though he were performing a steppe ritual.
Daniil tightened his jaw, feeling the familiar, simmering annoyance rise up. This was absurd. This is just another instance of Burakh’s backward nonsense, his insistence on injecting meaning where none existed. Why couldn’t he simply approach it as a task, a process with a clear beginning and end?
Daniil finished cutting around the pumpkin’s stem and lifted it carefully, strands of orange filaments stretching and clinging to the knife. He grimaced, shaking off the stray bits of pulp that clung to his fingers. This was an absolute mess—and a tedious one at that. He’d endured dissections far less revolting than this. Still, there was something faintly satisfying in this strange, pointless task.
He set the lid aside, staring down into the hollowed-out interior. It felt absurdly empty, like some half-formed thought, yet oddly familiar. Daniil didn’t like to waste time with frivolities, but this, somehow, was tolerable. He could see why Artemy might indulge in pumpkin carving—a way to work quietly with his hands, letting the mind wander without consequence.
It reminded him of his job as a Ripper during the plague. A morbid comparison, yes, but one that felt true nonetheless. Oh Christ, he was utterly terrified of Burakh back then.
“So… How am I supposed to get this out now?” He finally spoke up, looking at his colleague.
“Tools oynon. Or hands. I find hands to be more practical.”
“Of course you do..” Daniil muttered, rolling his eyes.
Artemy raised an eyebrow. "I could do it. If you want."
“Hah! I don’t need your assistance Burakh.”
Dankovsky removed his gloves with his teeth, trying to keep the leather dry, and then, he reached into the pumpkin. The cold, damp insides met his fingers and he flinched, a grimace tightening his face. The pulp clung to his skin, slimy and unpleasant, tangling his fingers in sticky strands and seeds. He resisted the urge to pull back, determined to see this through if only to keep from giving Burakh the satisfaction of watching him falter.
“Dankovsky–”
Shit.
No matter how much he tried, Burakh could always see through him.
“I hate this so much.” He admitted. “The texture…”
“Hand it over…” Burakh snatched the pumpkin from him. “I’m sorry. I thought you would have enjoyed this...”
“I… I am Burakh. I’m sorry. It’s just the texture–”
“Danya.” The sound of the name pulled Daniil's attention and he looked up instantly. “Relax. You don’t have to explain yourself. You’re fine.” Artemy’s voice was steady and reassuring, infused with a warmth that seemed to radiate from him. It washed over Daniil like sunlight breaking through a heavy fog, dispelling the tension coiled tightly in his chest.
“Yes… I’ll try…”
The Haruspex began clearing the insides and the Bachelor allowed for a swallow in his dry throat. God. He really shouldn’t be staring like this. What if Artemy’s kids were in the house? How weird would it be to find their so-called Uncle Bachelor staring at their father, full deer-in-the-headlights style?
He knew he had permission to stare, he made sure to ask a couple of months ago to avoid sounding too weird. Artemy didn’t have an issue with it and instead just teased him. Still, he felt the smallest bit of shame every time he indulged in the act.
Okay but, who could blame him? Artemy was handsome. Even that god-forsaken Inquisitor was all over him during the plague. They weren’t even close!
He might not have seen it on the first account, but he heard about it. Aglaya Lilich asked Artemy Burakh to skip town with him, alone, in a dark train cart…
The thought made Daniil’s stomach churn.
But deep down, he knew he was probably making this up.
Dankovsky never considered himself a jealous man. Plus, that was such a long time ago! He really should not be having such thoughts about the past. He didn’t even consider Burakh an ally back then, let alone anything as intimate as a friend.
Still, he took great pride in being able to be in this moment… The Haruspex, right in the palm of his hand.
“There you go…” Well, that snapped him right out of his thoughts, “Now onto the fun stuff. What are you going to carve?” Artemy handed back the now empty pumpkin.
“Not a clue… You?”
“Hmm… Thinking of a bull.”
“Aren’t you always..”
“Hey, I wasn’t asking for feedback– What about you?”
“How about… Ah, I’m at a loss. A little help?” Daniil sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“You have to figure it out by yourself. That’s the fun of it.”
“Alright, alright..”
𓆙 . . .
“Pretty sure mine’s done.” Artemy declared, the horns of the bull looked a little wobbly and they looked like they would probably break as soon as he stood up. He for sure is no pumpkin architect.
“I think I’m… done too.” Daniil wiped his forehead with the back of his hand even though nothing was there.
“Go on and share with the class then.” The Haruspex grinned.
Daniil huffed, a smile creeping onto his face as he turned to reveal his pumpkin. With a flourish, he presented it to Artemy, the flickering light from inside casting an eerie glow on the carving. On the surface was a delicate design, a moth or perhaps a butterfly, though Artemy had never really understood the difference between the two. It resembled a moth more than anything, its wings spread wide in an elegant display.
"Acherontia lachesis… I had one of these pinned back in my office.”
“How’s yours so good?! No way you just did that.”
“I started at the same time as you… I thought you were the one supposed to be better with incisions, no?” Daniil remarked, crossing his arms and shooting Artemy a glare.
“Pumpkins are different from flesh, Dankovsky. You’d be surprised.”
“I really wouldn’t,” Daniil shot back. But, as the words left his mouth, he felt a singular shiver run down his spine. It didn’t escape Burakh’s eye; he caught the slight twitch of Daniil’s expression, the way his bravado faltered for just a moment.
“Careful there, Danya,” Artemy said, his tone shifting slightly, concern lacing his playful demeanor. “You know it’s just a pumpkin, right? No need to let the past haunt you tonight.”
Daniil forced a chuckle, masking the discomfort with a wave of his hand. “Of course. Just… thinking of all the ways I could’ve made it better.” He glanced back at the pumpkin, the lingering chill dissipating slowly as he focused on the task at hand.
Burakh straightened, all of the bones in his back moving with a satisfying pop.
“Let’s get inside. It’s getting late.”
“But the kids–” Daniil argued. He had been well acquainted with the two, Sticky and Murky, in the past year. He always tried to be professional, even when teaching them. He insisted that Burakh call him by his last name with them as to not arouse suspicion.
Artemy looked back at the Bachelor, a small smile appearing on his face.
“They’re at Gravel’s place for the night. Don’t worry.”
“Did you plan this out?” Daniil asked, a little too fast. It only now clicked in his head that this was a date.
“Maybe.” The other chuckled. “But even if they were here, you should not worry. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind the Bachelor staying a few more nights than usual. You should hear how they complain when you’re gone.”
“You’re exaggerating things,” Daniil insisted, shaking his head as he tried to brush off Artemy’s concerns.
“I’m really not. They like you, Danya,” Artemy reassured him, a warm smile on his face that made the tension in Daniil’s shoulders ease ever so slightly.
“I just don’t want to… make things awkward,” Daniil replied, his brow furrowing as he thought about the small-town dynamics.
“Why would you?” Artemy asked, genuinely puzzled.
“I mean—a big city doctor remains in town for more than a year, starts working with the local doctor, and then he starts sleeping over at his house most of the time? How is that not suspicious?” Daniil's voice rose slightly, frustration creeping in.
“I wouldn’t mind.” Artemy said with a casual shrug, his expression unchanging.
“But they do! The town does!” Daniil exclaimed, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice.
“Danya…” Artemy’s tone softened, his eyes locking onto Daniil’s with a reassuring intensity.
“I know, I know—I do. I just need more time. To make it more… official, I guess.” Daniil's gaze dropped, the weight of his uncertainty hanging heavily in the air.
“That’s okay. You’re okay.” Artemy stepped closer, placing a comforting hand on Daniil's shoulder. “You have time. We’re not on the clock anymore.” His voice was steady, a reminder that whatever the townsfolk might think, they were in this together and there was no rush to define their relationship just yet.
Daniil pondered for a moment. Then, his shoulders slumped forward.
“I’m exhausted Burakh.”
“Then go to bed Kheerkhen. I’ll join you soon enough alright? I just need to clean a little.”
“Let me help-”
“Byy. Just go to bed, Dankovsky. Don’t be so stubborn. Let me handle it.” He protested and placed a warm hand on the Bachelor’s shoulder. The man leaned into his touch ever so slightly…
“I… alright Burakh.”
“Goodnight Daniil.”
“Goodnight… Artemy.”